My Embryo Ate Part of Her Embryo!

I would be the worst mother-to-be ever.  You know why? Because I have a bubble, and not just any bubble. A Spiky nuclear missile launching bubble fully equipped with radioactive shit-monkeys as a last defense kind of bubble. You see posts all the time about how annoying it is when you’re all preggers and people are all nosey and touchy and feely. Well, I say there’s an easier way. A way that might get you kicked out of places, even though only heartless bastards kick a pregnant lady out, but will possibly save your sanity.  This is how I see my possible future pregnancy going:
Annoying Human: “Wow, are you sure you’re not carrying twins?”
Me: “Twins? Is that some kind of a cruel joke? I’m not even pregnant you heartless monster! That’s my sister you’re poking at! HOW CAN YOU BE SO INSENSITIVE??? IT’S NOT MY FAULT MY EMBRYO ATE PART OF HER EMBRYO!”
Annoying  Human: “ Awe can I feel your belly?”
Me: “HELL NO! You could have Sars or swine flu or herpes! Don’t look at me like that, you could totally have herpes and just not be having an outbreak which woud mean you could still rub herpes on me and I don’t want herpes goo on my belly because that shit’s not sanitary! Besides, in the real world forcibly rubbing a stranger’s belly IS SEXUAL ASSAULT and I will SO shove my chubby swollen foot up your ass. I will do anything to protect my little Olga! PREGNANT WOMEN AGAINST BELLY ASSAULT UNITE!!!”
yea so lets just…not…go there. All right?
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Where de FUCK did the high go???

You know how everyone views themself in certain way and then they have this midlife crisis kind of moment where they realize they aren’t even half as awesome as their delusional brains have been implying their whole lives?They should be grateful.

I’m backwards. I go through most of my day knowing that if I were to disapear, sure a few family members would honestly be upset, but my poofing wouldn’t make even a ripple in the world. People would walk by my empy desk and assume I just left since I’m a temp. My friends whom I rarely hear from, ya know unless I’m throwing a party and supplying copious amounts of alcohol, would barely blink. Eventually someone would mention, hey I haven’t heard from her in awhile and they’d be all like “yeah she never talks to me anymore. bitch”
I’d like to live most of my life thinking I’m awesome. Thinking I’m one of the cool kids even though my hair never falls quite perfect and my makeup always smudges, and i don’t know how to properly layer my clothes to come off looking like a trendy kate moss. Even though most days I feel fat and ugly and small and unnoticeable all at once. I’d trade that for one frumpy year of self-doubt that can be cured by the illogical purchase of a fast vehicle painted in Slut Sloppy Red, with fancy rims that I only picked out because ” Oooo they’re shiny.”
Yeah, that’d be cool.
But that’s not how I’m wired. Actually, I’m not entirely sure I am wired. Most days I feel like the human mechanic opened me up and half-way through was struck with the undying need of a sandwich. So he just left me there half-wired and open to the elements. I already had glitches when i was stuck on the market, and strenuous day-to-day use has done nothing to assuage that.
I know I’m not the only one who feels like this but it’s hard to REALLY know, when you can’t exactly talk about it. People get sick of self-pity and impatient with comforting an endlessly neurotic person that, really, they just want to stop talking. stop crying. stop whining. stop cutting. stop being such a downer. Or they don’t get tired of all that and instead get tired of you not talking. pushing them away. refusing to explain.
When really, you can’t explain. Not then. Even sitting all alone typing into a non-judgemental text box to a blog no one reads you feel embarrassed trying to explain.
And that’s the mood I’m in.
I miss being rightously angry over rabbit feet.

D.A.R.E. Hates Children

I think D.A.R.E. secretly hates children. Why? because they train children that drug pushers will always be stopped by a simple “No” when a kick to the groin would be much more effective. Also, because after saying no, they actually tell children to HUG the pusher.Because, I don’t know, meth heads who are literally radioactive need love to.

I mean really, have they thought this through? Ok, so maybe not all drug pushers are evil. Maybe some honestly just want kids to have a good time. Maybe for them having a good time means being in an altered state which can make you halluciante talking hotdogs that scream in agony when you eat them (LSD) eat until your innards burst (Pot) have insane unprotected sex so long as you aren’t one of the 1/10 who will spontaniously die a few minutes after taking it (Extasy). Who knows. It’s not like some scraggly looking dude who walks up and offers a drug is secretly planning to rape them. Maybe if a said scraggly dude walks up and goes:

“Hey Susie/Bobby/Johnny/Equally lame and over used name, wonna try a Rufie? it’s fun…”

He honestly just thinks they look tired and need a nap?

…..

SO, since I don’t want my future (here that ovaries? NO BABIES NOW! So STFU and stop exploding eggs) children to have cancer after they are raped by meth-head hobos who really just needed a hug, I have come up with a better way to stop young children, from trying dugs. Education.

Cocaine: A powdery white substance that is so expensive you’ll never be able to afford a barbie/hotwheel/porno mag again. It is made of the crushed bones of kittens who couldn’t find homes at the local animal shelter and is often snorted through your nose. Ya know, like that weird kid in school who accidentally snorted milk at lunch and it oozed out of his nostrils and now no one will talk to him and he’ll probly never ever get a date because when he’s in highschool some smartass will remember the incident and bring it up again, only to add that milk kinda looked like sperm and what kind of weirdo snorts sperm? Yeah, like that.

Crack: Crack is like Cocaine but is cheaper because it’s made of kittens with contagious diseases like herpes. You usually have to spend all the money you save to pay for meds to treat the herpes which causes you to grow hideous bumps like that bitchy green chick from Wizard of Oz,which can only be cured by pooring acid on your body. (that last parts true)

Marijuana: Marijuana has the least dangerous effects of this list, but is bad because it is a Gateway drug, and when you use it a gateway to neverland opens up and one of Tinkerbell’s cousins is decapitated.
PCP: commonly called fairy dust, because it’s made of the skulls of decapitated fairies.

I mean come one, we’re talking about a population that believes in Santa, the toothfairy, and is totally cool with a  creepy ass giant rabbit that lays eggs made of chocolate out his butt and forces us to eat them. How hard can it be?

Better Safe than Sorry!

Know your field.For serious. That’s the trick. You know how everyone thinks furries are weird because they have freakish sex with freakish people dressed in freakish fuzzy costumes that give us horrific flashbacks to that time the mascot got a little too friendly? That’s because they are.But.My school didn’t actually have a mascot. not really. They were too concerned with supressing lesbian’s freedom of everything and bullying chronically ill students who honestly just don’t give a fuck that they missed another class of biology because they just had about 5 different tubes and needles stuck in their body for the past three days and FUck biology because my body is an asshole. And I blame you.

Anywho, there truly is an art to furriness. Picture this scenario,
You’re all cruising in you’re big poofy raccoon suit, feeling sassy with your new genuine racoon fur tail(because obviously, fuck peta, they just want to deny you happiness. They’re disgust has absolutely nothing to do with you’re recent ass raping of a pregnant cow, and were illogically angry when you pointed out that it shouldn’t really matter because the cows totally gonna be used for McDonald’s Big Macs. They’re just prudes) When some snappy mutha fuckah walks up to you in a pink dinosaur costume complete with pink glittery scales and goes…
Dino boy: DUUUUUDE your costume is so lame!
You (in this strange land where you dress as  racoon for booty): Why, kind sir, whatever do you mean?
Dino boy: Who the fuck would want to fuck a racoon?

and for a moment, instead of simply agreeing with the Dino-Pony as all sane individuals would do, you are honestly offended. And, having your Cooney Confidence reduced by a freakish hybrid of extinct doom, you ask…

You: Why?
Dino boy: Because they don’t have spit! getting a blowjob from a racoon would be like masturbating with sandpaper. Totally not worth all those rabies shots. thats why they always wash their food before eating. NO spit. DUH.

And this is when you prove that you are no ammature. you take this shit seriously.

You: ACTUALLY, scientists USED to belive that racoons washed their food  because they didn’t have enough saliva to moisten their food, but NOW  the presiding theory is actually that racoons wash their food to make it easier to press and squash it to be sure there are no dangerous bits or sharp bones in the food. What you are mistaking for a racoons inability to give decent head, is really just proof that racoons are survivalists who simply believe in the motto “better safe than sorry”

And now every time your mother tells you to be “better safe than sorry” you will inadvertantly picture a giant racoon giving a Dinosaur head.

Good Luck and Deer Jerky

Manic as FUUUUUCK.
 
I find myself in a ranty mood. A very ranty mood. A might pass out from lack of oxygen kind of ranty mood. Not really an issue from day-to-day except for the fact that I have been informed that my verbal aggression in rants tends to scare small chidlren and make baby rabbits cry.Also, STFU rabbits can’t cry.If they could there’d be a monument surrounded by feetless rabbits showing their profound dismay at the stupidity of people, superstitious people, who belive that, somehow, chopping the foot off an innocent fuzzy animal who loves nothing more than eating, shitting, and humping will bring them good luck. All through a single tear. But they can’t. Good for you. Now you can wear innocent mangled feet guilt-free for generations to come. Asshole.But this is neither here nor there. Basically, shit be going down in the world in such a manner as to piss me off or intrigue me lately. Odd, since I am normally the person in the back corner who is content so long as no one is poking me with a sharp stick (something which oddly enough happens on a regular basis). And if I am being poked with a sharp stick, generally I’m content to bitch slap the person and go back to my bubble rather than go on a verbal diatribe.

Lately, this is not the case. Either because I’m bored or because the world is honestly reaching a level of studpidity that is mentally astounding to me. ME, being a totally realistic, normal, and  un-opinionated being…no really I’m for serious.

No I’m not.

If you didn’t realize that I was joking just there you’re probly one of the idiots walking around with Thumpers hind leg on a key-chain. Becuase Bambi hasn’t suffered enough. It’s not like being a gangly legged orphan with a chick’s name wasn’t bad enough. Nope, lets kill his best-friend too. Oh wait, you didn’t kill him though. you just disabled him and left him in a forrest full of talking animals who so totally won’t kill or eat him just for the hell of it. Survival of the fittest? Totally doesn’t apply to Disney. If it did, Bambi’s mother would’ve gotten shot and carved up for deer jerky. Oh wait…